


The Most Important Things are Sometimes the Stupidest

by dearfriendicanfly



Category: Gintama
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:59:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearfriendicanfly/pseuds/dearfriendicanfly
Summary: "What exactly do you wanna be, Toshi?"Kondo asks a simple question. Hijikata spends ten years reflecting on his answer.





	The Most Important Things are Sometimes the Stupidest

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Lexi and Hyamara for beta reading and generally encouraging me, and Swan for giving the the prompt "the right to be ridiculous is something I hold dear."

“What exactly do you wanna be, Toshi?”

An oddly timed question, Hijikata thinks, grimacing as Kondo presses a damp cloth to the open wound on his cheek. The antiseptic stings like hell, but Hijikata simply grits his teeth. Outside the dojo’s open doors, the sun is beginning to set, dousing the two rowdy teens in a warm, orange glow. “The hell kind of question is that?” he mumbles. “And who said you could call me Toshi?”

“Well,” Kondo muses, keeping pressure on the cut with one hand and reaching for a roll of gauze with the other, “you’re always getting into one fight or another, and I don’t imagine you _like_ getting the shit kicked out of you.”

“Oi, what are you trying to say? Why don’t you look in the mirror, you damn gorilla, you’re beat to hell too, you know.”

Hijikata shoots him a glare that would have sent a chill down anyone else’s spine, but Kondo simply bites back a smile. “I just mean you must be training for _something_ , right? You’ve challenged half the dojos in Bushu, but you don’t belong to any dojo of your own. You pick fights for no reason, but then you fight as long as you can stand. You say you aren’t a member of this dojo...” Suddenly there’s no cloth stinging Hijikata’s cheek, and Kondo takes one of his hands in his own, examining Hijikata’s palm with warm, gentle fingers. “...and yet you’ve got blisters all over your hands from practice swings.” Hijikata’s breath catches in his throat and he jerks his hand away reflexively, as if burned. Kondo blinks, startled, and holds his own hands up apologetically. “I just wonder what you’re swingin’ that sword around for, is all.”

Hijikata nurses his hand, eyes dark and brows knitted, looking past Kondo at the rolling, reddened clouds. The question is nosy and overly familiar, par for the course with most of his conversations with this strange boy with the big, goofy smile and booming voice that fills the room like thunder. But Hijikata isn’t sitting in stubborn silence just because he has no intention of answering, he realizes; he _has_ no answer to begin with.

_What exactly do you wanna be, Toshi?_

He thinks of his mother clutching his hand and desperately telling him to remember the name Hijikata, the family who would take care of him when she was gone, and yet strangely would not take care of her as she lay dying. He thinks of the callouses on his ten-year-old hands from hauling fish for not even half the wages of the grown men he worked with. He thinks of the looks of fear and contempt from the townspeople whenever he walks by, just like the way his half-siblings looked at him. The way they all spat the word _demon_ like it was meant to maim. His brother, lying in the dirt clutching his bloodied eyes, unable to see the little demon who cut down his attackers.

His answer is almost inaudible. “Nothing really. I’m just your run-of-the-mill problem child.”

A smile spreads across Kondo’s face, somehow softening the bruise that almost seals his left eye shut. “Well, that’s good to hear. Problem children are sort of our specialty.”

Hijikata lets out a snort, rolling his eyes. But something heavy settles into his chest and grips him like a vice. He glances at the blisters on his hands, which have healed into a dull, familiar ache. The last rays of sunlight pouring into the dojo are warm and bright against his skin.

“What about you?” The words fall from his lips unbidden. “What is it you want to be?”

Kondo lets out a hearty laugh, and then suddenly the cloth is pressed against Hijikata’s cheek again and he lets out a yelp of protest. “I’d sure like to know,” he muses, wiping the last traces of dried blood from Hijikata’s cheek and pressing a gauze pad to the cut. “But whatever I do, I think… I’d like to be a ridiculous man until the very end.”

“The hell kind of answer is that?” Hijikata mumbles, touching the gauze gingerly. But his expression must have softened, because Kondo is biting back a smile again. Before Hijikata can muster a proper scowl, Kondo stands up with a grunt and stretches.

“All right, I think I’ve done everything I can.” His voice is a little too casual as he adds, “You’re free to do as you like.”

Hijikata doesn’t move.

Kondo bends down to pick up the roll of gauze from the floor, but Hijikata snatches it away. Kondo blinks. “Toshi?”

“Your face still looks like shit.”

Kondo raises an eyebrow. “Thanks, I was born with it.”

Hijikata finally scowls properly. “I’m talking about that bruise, idiot. It’s swelling like hell. And you’ve got a cut near your temple.” He unravels the gauze and folds it into a compress with deft fingers; Hijikata would not have made it this far without some skill in first aid. “I may be a problem child, but I’m no freeloader, Kondo-san.”

Kondo smiles again, warm and slow and beaming like a sunrise. “I guess you’ll just have to stick around until both of our heads heal up.”

“Fat chance of that,” Hijikata mumbles softly, and Kondo lets out a rumbling, gravelly laugh that rings in Hijikata’s ears for the rest of the evening.

* * *

One of the first things Hijikata learns upon arriving in Edo is that discipline is a balancing act; fear is useful, certainly. And Hijikata is good at fear. It doesn’t take long for the Demon Vice Chief to make a name for himself, with his severe glare and quick temper.

But fear isn’t enough to keep the men in line, he quickly learns. Fear without respect leads to resentment. Resentment leads to conflict. Conflict leads to Kondo and his stupidly big heart having to iron out all of the wrinkles Hijikata has left in his wake. And he does a good job of it, Hijikata thinks with both pride and guilt. Kondo is the factor that balances the equation – he is not feared, with his thunderous laugh and open arms and equally open heart. He is loved, and love in turn earns him respect. Together, the two of them manage to avoid discord within the ranks, but it’s fairly obvious which of them is the most successful. Fear can only take you so far.

(And it certainly doesn’t help that a certain fourteen year old brat is already giving him a run for his money regarding the scare factor, anyway.)

So when Kondo calls Hijikata into his office for a private discussion after what must have been Yamazaki’s tenth complaint about how _maybe_ Hijikata might have taken that threat about testing his sword out on Yamazaki’s ballsack a _little_ too far, Hijikata doesn’t try to pretend he doesn’t know exactly where their little talk is going. He enters the room wearing his darkest scowl and arms crossed defiantly over his chest, already on the defensive. But Kondo either doesn’t notice or pretends not to, because he simply lets out a weary sigh and gestures to the seat across from his desk. Hijikata takes it, still staring Kondo down, preparing himself for a lecture.

“I want you to write a list of formal regulations for the organization.”

Hijikata opens his mouth to retort that Kondo is too soft on the men, that someone needs to be the bad guy and keep them in line, and then he closes it. Then he opens it again, and no words come out. He closes it again and just stares at Kondo, his scowl deepening as he tries to cover for his confusion.

Kondo kindly ignores his moment of stupidity and scratches the back of his head, looking harried. “See, I’ve been trying to write it all morning, but I’m just no good with words. Not like you are.” He waves helplessly at the wastebin in the corner of the room, overflowing with crumpled paper. “And I feel like I’m too soft, you know? But I know I can trust you when it comes to discipline. So I thought, _it’s gotta be Toshi_ , right?”

Hijikata stares dumbly for a moment. He blinks. He clears his throat. “I… guess that makes sense.”

“Great!” Kondo heaves a sigh of relief and motions to the desk, where a scroll and all of the necessary writing implements are still laid out. “I’ll leave it to you, then.”

Hijikata picks up the brush dutifully and nods. “Right. I understand.”

“Do you, Toshi?”

When Hijikata glances back up at Kondo, he finds that he is no longer looking at the amiable Kondo-san, and is now faced with Chief Kondo, arms crossed and frowning down at Hijikata from the end of his nose.

 _Ah_ , Hijikata thinks with an internal sigh. _Here comes the lecture after all._

“Kondo-san,” he begins, already on the defensive, but Kondo holds up a hand to stop him.

“Toshi,” he says quietly, “do you know what I’m asking you to do?”

Hijikata matches Kondo’s game face with a frown of his own. “You’re asking me to formally take charge of discipline within the Shinsengumi,” he says flatly.

“And do you know what that entails?”

Hijikata chews his lip for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It means... whatever creed I decide on, I have to make an example of myself by upholding it to the letter before I can expect the men to follow it as well.”

Kondo stares at Hijikata for a while, weighing his words. “Hmm.”

“Hmm? The hell does _hmm_ mean?”

“It means hmm.”

Hijikata’s eye twitches. “Kondo-san, would you like to tell me what your point is instead of making me guess?”

Kondo lets out a long breath, shaking his head. “My point is that this isn’t just a list of rules I’m asking for, it’s a code of ideals to live and die by. I’m asking you to be the ultimate role model for the men. In _every_ way, Toshi.”

Hijikata narrows his eyes. “...And?”

“And that means you need their respect. _Real_ respect. You’re asking them to follow a creed born of _your_ own heart and _your_ idea of what it means to be a samurai. You can’t just be someone who enforces anymore, Toshi, you need to inspire.”

Hijikata’s expression darkens and he looks stubbornly out the window. “I’m not exactly the inspirational type, Kondo-san. That’s more your area.”

“Well, you inspire me.”

Hijikata isn’t sure he heard right. He looks up at Kondo, at a loss, but Kondo isn’t smiling his usual goofy, morale-boosting grin. His expression is honest and straightforward.

“I… what?”

“You inspire me,” Kondo repeats plainly. “You’re earnest and hardworking, and you dedicate yourself heart and soul to any task you take up. You’re not afraid of doing what’s right, even if it means playing the bad guy and being disliked. You’re hard on the men because you know they’re capable of more, and you bring the best out in them because of it. You’re a man of his word, and you carry yourself with honor and dignity. And despite your little demon act, you’re kind at heart.” He smiles now, a crooked little smirk, but his eyes are warm with pride. “You’re more than deserving of the respect of every man in this organization, Toshi. But if you really want to bring out everyone’s best selves, you’re going to have to put forth your own best self for everyone to see.”

Hijikata doesn’t answer, holding the brush a little too tightly in his hand.

_My best self? A code to live by?_

_What exactly do you wanna be, Toshi?_

Kondo stands to his feet with a sigh, patting him heavily on the shoulder as he walks by. “I’ll leave you to it,” he says gently. “I trust you, Toshi.” And with that, he leaves Hijikata alone with his thoughts and a blank scroll staring back at him from the desk.

His mind eventually begins to wander down the old paths of Bushu and the sight of multiple sets of footsteps alongside his own in the dirt, and he begins to write.

When he finally leaves the room that evening with forty five articles burning a hole in his pocket, he hears a cough from beside the door. Yamazaki nods his head when Hijikata turns, eyebrow raised, and clears his throat awkwardly. “The Chief asked me to see to it that you weren’t disturbed,” he explains.

“Of course he did,” Hijikata mutters, rolling his eyes. Kondo is Kondo, after all.

Hijikata’s shoulders deflate a little as he takes a good look at Yamazaki’s darting eyes and nervous fingers tapping restlessly against his thigh. He’s uncomfortable, and understandably so, considering Hijikata threatened him with recreational castration just a few hours before.

His hair is starting to grow back in dark, wispy waves, Hijikata notices. It took Yamazaki a strangely long time to say goodbye to the ridiculous green mohawk. Despite being loath to go against Hijikata in any other matter, on the subject of his hair, he had remained strangely stubborn. It was undignified, Hijikata told him. Unbefitting of a samurai. It looked like the Grinch’s pubes. Still, Yamazaki had begged with his nose to the ground to be allowed to keep it. Kondo was a pushover as usual and allowed it; it’s important to allow the men to shape their own identities, he said. But something about that pissed Hijikata off.

When he told Yamazaki that no number of flashy haircuts can make up for a lack of presence or personality, Yamazaki stopped begging. The next day, he came into the mess hall with a shaved head and downcast eyes.

The memory suddenly makes Hijikata feel sick at his stomach, and he wishes Yamazaki would look at him now instead of staring at the floor.

“Are you finished with your work, Vice Chief?” Yamazaki asks, clearing his throat again to bring Hijikata back to the present.

“Oh – yeah, I’m done. You can take this to Kondo.” Yamazaki glances curiously at the scroll as Hijikata presses it into his hand, but doesn’t pry. “Yessir,” he says simply, turning to leave.

“Oi… Yamazaki.”

“Sir?”

Hijikata lets out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. “...Good work on the recon mission at Ikedaya the other day. The intel you brought back was indispensable. It was a lot to ask of you, but you’re a quick thinker and blend in better than anyone, so… I knew you’d be up to the task.”

Yamazaki stares dumbstruck, as if Hijikata had suddenly sprouted antlers.

“T...Thank you, Vice Chief,” Yamazaki says uncertainly, narrowing his eyes like he’s waiting for a catch. It kind of makes Hijikata want to kill him.

But when the praise isn’t followed up by some biting remark or a demand to commit seppuku, a smile starts to play at the corners of Yamazaki’s mouth and he stands a little straighter, no longer staring at the floor. “I’ll take this scroll to the Chief immediately, sir!” he says brightly, snapping to a salute before turning on his heel and making his way to wherever Kondo has been waiting.

Hijikata lets out a hum from deep in his chest, leaning against the doorframe and watching the sunset.

_Well, you inspire me._

Fear is easy. But maybe this whole respect thing is worth the effort.

* * *

Their first kiss is ten years overdue, shared in the dark of Hijikata’s quarters with Kondo’s fingers tangled in his hair a little too tightly. Hijikata lets out a long sigh, whether of contentment or resignation he isn’t sure, and gently tries to dislodge Kondo’s hand. “Kondo-san, I’m okay.”

Kondo laces his fingers in Hijikata’s own and doesn’t answer.

Itou’s death hit Kondo hard, Hijikata can tell. He doesn’t try to deny the heaviness in the pit of his own gut, either, the dull ache in his chest that comes from something other than his broken ribs. So when Kondo stood in his doorway with that face of his like a wounded child, Hijikata made room for him in his futon without a word. And in all honestly, Hijikata doesn’t mind the company.

“I’m sorry,” Kondo finally murmurs into Hijikata’s hair, his thumb rubbing small circles in the back of his hand. “I’m really sorry, Toshi.”

“For what?” Hijikata sighs. “I’m the one who started all of this – picking a fight with my commander, acting like some shitty brat. What kind of idiot buys a cursed sword, anyway?”

“I should have known something was wrong.”

“It’s not your job to babysit me.”

“I should have listened to you, then.”

“No,” Hijikata says quietly, “I was wrong from the start. I should have known you’d never turn on him.” He closes his eyes, listening for a moment to the steady thrum of Kondo’s heart. His big, stupid heart. “Problem children are kind of your specialty.”

Kondo is silent for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dark. “Maybe I _am_ too soft,” he says, so quiet Hijikata almost doesn’t hear it. “I almost got you and Sougo killed. And Yamazaki, too. Even those Yorozuya idiots stuck their necks out for me… and in the end, I didn’t– I couldn’t even–” The words stick in his throat like too much peanut butter, and Hijikata’s heart plummets as he remembers it – the way those Yorozuya kids looked at them as they led Itou away, the blood that had already begun to pool at Itou’s feet before they even raised their blades, the tears in his eyes as he looked back at Hijikata before falling.

The tears dribbling down the end of Kondo’s nose when Hijikata stepped forward to play the part of executioner.

“Kondo-san…” Hijikata begins, but the rest of his words are too jumbled in his brain and seem to get caught in his throat, choking him. He wants to say that he’s the one who should be sorry, that shitty brats are supposed to look out for each other, not cut each other down. He wants to say that Kondo’s kindness is a rare and precious brand of strength, a point of pride to every man serving under him. He wants to grab Kondo by the face and say that what he wants to be is everything Kondo seems to see reflected in him, even if Hijikata himself struggles to see it. But all that comes out is, “Don’t ever change.”

Kondo is silent for an uneasy, stomach churning moment, until he lets out a watery chuckle, pressing his lips to the crown of Hijikata’s head. “Ever?”

“...Well, if you could stop getting the shit beat out of you by the Shimura girl, that would be nice. I’m running out of bullshit excuses for your injuries.”

“That’s fair.”

“Also please stop getting naked, it’s getting us in trouble with the PTA.”

“Point taken.”

“That incident with the konjac was really disgusting, too. If you’re still doing that I’m going to need you to cut that shit out.”

“Oi, Toshi, are you trying to cheer me up or make me cry?”

“Just keep on laughing.” Hijikata adjusts the bandage wrapped around Kondo’s head as an excuse to look anywhere but at his eyes. “And taking in strays, and being soft. Do what you think is right, and let us worry about the rest. We wouldn’t be following you if we didn’t trust your judgment… or your heart.”

Kondo doesn’t answer, other than to wrap an arm around Hijikata’s waist and hold him close. Hijikata listens to his breaths gradually become slower and more regular, and falls asleep to the rhythm of his heartbeat.

When he wakes up the next morning, Kondo is gone, and the covers are expertly tucked around his shoulders. When he gets dressed and heads out to the courtyard to oversee the morning’s training, he sees Chief Kondo at the head of the formation, arms crossed over his chest and chin upturned, grinning ridiculously down from the end of his nose.

A smile tugs at the corners of Hijikata’s mouth.

* * *

Leaving Edo feels different from leaving Bushu. It shouldn’t be; Hijikata left many precious things behind in that little dojo in the countryside, things that changed and evolved, or faded and disappeared, in his absence. It’s left an ache that has settled comfortably in the pit of his stomach and stayed with him for years.

But when he thinks about the police taped building he’s called a home for over half a decade, or the rowdy streets of Kabukicho, or the way Gintoki’s laugh rang through the little diner like the clanging of a bell, a different kind of ache seems to seep into the very marrow of his bones. And it’s a different kind of resolve that straightens his back as he walks with the others to the ship awaiting them.

Katsura does not board with them – he is preparing safe transport for the Yorozuya to Akihabara, he tells them (which comes as a great relief, although Hijikata would never admit it). But he sees them off with an unexpectedly warm smile, his hand resting over the hole in his gut seemingly without thought. Hijikata finds himself returning it in kind, shaking Katsura’s hand with a firm, warm grip.

Shimaru of all people goes so far as to open his arms hesitantly for a hug, which Hijikata knows must feel to Shimaru like what walking through a haunted house feels like to himself. But Katsura indulges him, patting him gently on the back and murmuring what sounds like some kind of apology. Shimaru must have accepted because when they break apart, Hijikata sees his eyes crinkled in a smile.

Even Sougo asks Katsura to take care of the danna and his brats, and shares a glance with Katsura that Hijikata momentarily suspects he might have imagined – a look of gratitude.

When it’s Kondo’s turn to say goodbye, he and Katsura clasp one another’s wrists tightly, their eyes bright. Kondo claps him on the shoulder and says something Hijikata can’t hear, but when Katsura replies, he mouths something that looks like, “no, thank _you_.” Hijikata probably imagines it, but he thinks maybe a tear slips down Katsura’s cheek before he quickly turns and clears his throat to yell something to Elizabeth about going to fetch that stubborn fool Gintoki.

Kondo doesn’t cry, Hijikata notices, as the door to the ship’s hold closes with a roaring of pneumatics and both Katsura and the Edo skyline disappear from sight. He’s probably already had his fair share of tears out of sight, to be fair. But goodbyes always tend to make Kondo misty, and of everyone on board that ship, Hijikata knows he loves this town the most. Yet he simply smiles, warm and fond. Hijikata knows in this moment that they share the same resolve.

This isn’t a goodbye.

_What exactly do you wanna be, Toshi?_

“Kondo-san.”

Kondo tears his eyes from the porthole by his seat and looks across at Hijikata. The scar across his face has already started to heal, thanks to Yamazaki’s and Katsura’s medics’ quick ministrations. Hijikata fleetingly remembers sitting across from Kondo like this on the floor of the dojo, cleaning a cut on Kondo’s forehead while the sun set behind them. Today, the view outside their window is a sunrise.

“I think… I’ve become a ridiculous man.”

A toothy smile spreads across Kondo’s features. “Haven’t you always been?”

**Author's Note:**

> can you BELIEVE there are only like... five konhiji fics on all of ao3? tragédie. i'll populate the tag all by my lonesome if i must.
> 
> quick note: since the real yamazaki susumu was once a doctor in kyoto, i like to think that our zaki helps with first aid on the front lines, and that he helped patch up the wound that turned into kondo's scar. :'' 
> 
> anyway, thanks for reading, and i hope you enjoyed this sappy little thing haha. as always, comments and kudos are appreciated more than words can say <3


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